Everything hurt because there was nothing to calm me, nothing to take it away, and everything was beautiful because at least I still felt alive, because at least I still had things to create. God, the hurt didn't seem to end, didn't seem to take any breaks, had been going on so long that I had gotten used to it. In some oddly comforting way, I would imagine that if you were to cut the hurt out of my chest, it would be purple, a combination of blue and red, my two favorite colors. Made up of me, it would glow and throb and break. I'm sure I would find it beautiful. Sometimes I could trick myself, but God, was I alone, and God, was I human. All too human. At the end of the day, the hurt just wanted to be alive. It just wanted to ache. That was it's everything. Was I going to take that away? How selfish of me.
And then I met you and suddenly I wanted to know every piece of you I possibly could. I asked what your favorite books and movies were, I asked what your favorite quote was, what you believed in, who you loved most in the world. The drum of the hurt stopped echoeing when you told me about your family and your music taste and your earliest memories. Everything I found made you more and more wonderful, and I tried my best to remember every word that came out of your mouth, to write down the things I didn't want to forget, and I wish I could've captured the soft sound of your voice in my writing, wish I was talented enough to depict you in a drawing, although the fact that I wasn't didn't stop me from trying. My notebooks had never known these colors. My love never stopped, because everything I found made you more beautiful. But you deserved more than the word "beautiful". I loathed myself for calling you beautiful. You deserved heavenly, ethereal, divine, magnificent, something more than the small amount of words we had on earth. You were art. You deserved an unknown language, you deserved everything.
Everything hurt because I didn't know if you loved me back, and everything was beautiful because we slept underneath the same sky. God, the love didn't seem to end, didn't seem to take any breaks, had been going on so long that I had gotten used to it. The bittersweetness of falling never failed to make my brain sigh at the sight of you. You deserved more than you were given. I never thought I could look at someone with this much love.
I loved you so much that I wanted to live again.
I loved you so much that I started eating breakfast and cleaning my room and drinking water and tea and orange juice. I loved you so much that I took all of the old posters off of my walls and recycled the old journals I filled with things I hated remembering. I loved you so much that I started dressing how I wanted to dress and making my bed whenever I woke up. I loved you so much that I started to discover how beautiful life could be if you waited.
I loved you so much that I started to love myself.
In the end, everything hurt because I knew I would lose you somehow, someday, and everything was beautiful because I got to hold you while I slept. And anyway, the hurt was too small compared to the other things I felt for you, the booming, bustling warmth, the thing that made me smile when there was nothing to smile about. I would imagine that if you were to cut the love out of my chest, it would be yellow, my favorite color because it was your favorite color, and it would glow and it would be full of warmth, switching back and forth between rustling and sweetly overcoming. I didn't like the ocean until I got to fall asleep in your arms and I could feel the warmth washing over me like waves. I could live in yellow now, if I wanted to. The hurt had turned dull, transformed into two dry pills in my mouth, and it still ached, still throbbed, but your eyes were always there to drown out the throbbing. I didn't feel guilty for taking away it's everything, because it was made up of me, and I had an everything now.
I had nothing to worry about.
